


Stronghold Hearts

by GoldenDaydreams



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Axii (The Witcher), First Meetings, Fluff, Friendship, Illnesses, Injury, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26356756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: “I’ll see you around, Eskel.”“The Continent is a big place.”“Destiny brought us together once, I’m sure she’ll see fit to do it again.”AKA- Eskel and Jaskier pine for one another. They figure it out eventually.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 24
Kudos: 257





	Stronghold Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stfustucky (iwillpaintasongforlou)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/gifts).



> Happy birthday!! <3 Hope it's wonderful!

Leshens. Why did it have to be leshens? The damn thing had managed to take a good chunk out of his horse, and he’d had to put Ol’ Scorpion down. If that wasn’t bad enough, the alderman had confessed he did not have the coin amount that had been posted on the notice board. Instead, the best he could do was offer a goat, along with the pittance of the few coins he still had. 

Eskel, injured himself and without his horse, hadn’t had the patience to argue. He’d taken the coins, all twenty-six rather than the ninety he’d been expecting. The goat that followed him all the way to where he’d set up camp was a fucking menace, running amok. If the thing ran into the trees, and was eaten by a bear, honestly it would be the best thing to happen to Eskel all day. 

Lil Menace as he’d taken to thinking of her as ran over to a tree, jumped, knocking her hooves on it, and landed before letting out a little bleat. Fucking nightmare was going to end up drawing attention he didn’t want. 

“Keep it up, and you’re going in the pot,” he told her, pointing to the small pot of water boiling over fire.   
  
Ignoring the goat, he refocussed his attention on the needle in hand. The leshen had got a few good hits in, and the devastating branches had managed to cut through his armour. Blood wet his fingertips as he did the first stitch in his side. The slash went around to his back, but he figured if he could stitch at least half, and bind the rest it would hold until he could—what? The problem was coin, and not having enough to be seen to by a healer. 

He’d be fine. 

But fuck leshens. And the fuck that alderman. 

Lil Menace knocked into his potion bag. _Fuck the fucking goat too_. 

His hands vibrated with his anger, and it tugged on the stitch he was trying to complete. He hissed out a breath, and cursed low. He was so focussed on keeping a grip on the needle that he didn’t realize Lil Menace was gone from camp until he’d tied the stitches off. Over half the wound on his back was left open, but bandages would have to do. 

His enhanced senses picked up the spry goat practically prancing through leaves, but they also picked up a slower set of footsteps. Someone was trying to get the drop on him, as if his day hadn’t been bad enough already.

Tracking whoever walked through the forest, he took great care to pick his steps, staying in the shadows of the trees, and waited. 

He caught sight of a bit of soft green, and creamy white fabrics before leaning further back to keep from being seen. Lil Menace drew closer, and when she stopped, so did the man. 

Lil Menace bleated. 

With the man’s attention diverted, Eskel stepped out from behind the tree, a branch snapping under his foot, and the man turned to face him. In one smooth movement, Eskel grabbed the man by the throat, lifted him off his feet a moment before following through pinning the man to the ground. A dagger dropped to the leaves, and a black case dropped to the side with a twang. 

Blood trickled down his side. He should have picked a better tactic, one that wouldn’t reopen stitches barely made. He didn’t want another fight, and while he usually avoided using axii, it did come in handy for ending small squabbles with only one or two men without bloodshed. 

He felt the magic build as his hands made the sign of axii in front of the man’s eyes. “Leave.”

The man under him became lax under him, and Eskel released the grip on his throat. Blue eyes stared up at him, dazed, like he looked through Eskel instead of at him. The Witcher was familiar with stunned expression. It was rare that someone could resist his compulsion, he’d always had an edge with his signs. 

So he wasn’t expecting the rapid blinking, nor the eyes clearing, focussing on him once more. The man reached out with one hand, and Eskel grabbed him by the wrist on instinct forcing the man’s hand to his chest, using his weight and position to keep it there, and grabbing his throat with the other hand, words garbling when he squeezed. 

With his free hand, the man patted Eskel’s arm. Tapping like Geralt or Lambert would when they wrestled, and he got them into a hold they couldn’t break. Tapping like they were just playing. That paired with a surprising lack of fear scent had Eskel releasing him, but still on guard. 

The man gasped for breath, coughed a bit, but then real slow, he poked the wolf medallion dangling from his neck. 

“Wolf,” he said. “Like Geralt.”

The mention of Geralt had Eskel taking a closer look at the man’s flashy clothing, not a soldier, farmer, commoner, no—a bard, Geralt’s bard. “Jaskier.” 

“You must be Eskel.” 

Eskel figured he must have known because of the distinct scars on his face. He leaned back into a crouch, letting Jaskier sit up. 

“Geralt said your signs were more powerful, and by fuck, he wasn’t kidding.” 

“My signs?”

“How else did you think I’d recognize you? I mean, I had fifty-fifty odds since he told me Vesemir doesn’t often travel down from Kaer Morhen. And he also said Lambert has weak ass signs, but I had trouble breaking yours.”

“He taught you to break through axii.” 

“Ah, yes, it was a whole incident, but you’re bleeding so perhaps another time.” 

Eskel turned to look down at his side. 

Jaskier stood, and dusted himself off before he reached out a hand for Eskel. He didn’t take it, he could stand on his own. Jaskier rolled his eyes, and collected his dropped possessions. “Come on, I’ll help you get patched up.” 

“I don’t need help,” he said, he’d survived on the path for so long, he would be fine.

Jaskier glanced over his shoulder. “It’s not weakness to accept help.” And then he continued forward, toward camp, leaving Eskel no choice but to follow. Lil Menace ran around the two of them and nearly tripped Eskel more than once. 

At camp, Jaskier immediately made himself at home, leaving his lute against a tree stump, and inspected Eskel’s medical supplies. The needle and thread abandoned on a rock along with dry bandages. 

“Sit down,” Jaskier said. He carefully poured some of the water from the pot over the fire into a smaller basin Eskel had in his pack, and used that to wet a swatch of linen to clean out the wound. “What got you?”

“Leshen.”

Jaskier hummed in acknowledgment. “Very dangerous.” 

“It killed my horse,” Eskel muttered, still hurt over it. 

He felt Jaskier’s hand still for a second before returning to task, wiping blood away, rinsing the linen, and cleaning some more. “I’m sorry that happened.” Eskel clenched his jaw when Jaskier lightly dabbed over the wound itself. “I’m going to sew this up now.”

Jaskier’s hands were gentle on his side. “This is going to hurt,” he warned, pinching the torn flesh a little as he started the first stitch. Jaskier’s proficiency with a needle was worrying. How many times had Geralt needed stitches for Jaskier to get so good? 

Jaskier spoke softly the entire time, clearly trying to keep Eskel distracted with humourous stories of times spent at court, and then of the fact he had to do a bit of a trip between two towns to procure some specialty wine for a friend at Oxenfurt, but now might have missed the merchant caravan that would have cut days time off his trip. 

“There,” Jaskier said, cutting the thread off. “Stitches are done.” He grabbed the bandages. “You’re a very good patient.” With the same proficiency in which he’d stitched the wound, he wrapped it. 

“Thank you,” Eskel said. 

“You’re welcome.” With no apparent respect for boundaries, he opened Eskel’s pack, and pulled out a shirt. “Here, before you catch your death of cold.”

Surely he was joking, but the chill had settled into Eskel’s bones, so he took the shirt with a nod of gratitude. He hissed out a breath as he pulled it on, Jaskier’s hands along the hem, helping yet again. When he got his head through the collar, Jaskier’s face was in front of him. 

“Better?” Jaskier asked. 

Eskel gave a little nod, not accustom to having a human so close to him without danger, without reeking of fear, without looking at him with revulsion. 

Jaskier’s stomach rumbled loudly, and his cheeks turned pink as he smiled, and Eskel couldn’t help but smile too. Jaskier’s expression shifted a bit, and Eskel looked away, he knew the scar-tissue didn’t move like normal, it could be off-putting. 

“I have some food, in the pack,” Eskel pointed. “It isn’t much, but you’re welcome to it.”

Jaskier touched Eskel’s knee when he stood. Eskel stared into the fire wishing he had the energy to actually hunt for something. Jaskier returned a moment later, sitting right next to him. He tore the chunk of bread in half and offered Eskel the bigger side. 

He hesitated a moment, and the bard wiggled it until Eskel took it. The two of them ate the bread, then shared some of the dried meat, leaving a bit for morning. 

Eskel stretched his legs out, warming his feet by the fire, leaning back against the boulder. 

Jaskier shifted to lay down, and Eskel was surprised by the weight of the man’s head on his thigh. Jaskier looked up at him. “Is this okay?”

“Uh—sure?”

Jaskier turned to look at the fire, and Eskel did the same, listening to Jaskier talk about his time spent at court for a while, pausing now, and then, and when Eskel looked down he saw that Jaskier was fighting a losing battle with his heavy eyelids. 

Lil Menace, exhausted from a long day of being a little shit, curled up on the other side of Eskel, and rested her head on Eskel’s thigh. Slowly, she stretched, and he flicked her nose before she could chew Jaskier’s hair. She bleated at him, and tucked her head down between her front hooves. 

He enjoyed the peace of the crickets and crackling fire. The next time he looked down, both Lil Menace and Jaskier were sleeping. Jaskier’s body was relaxed, his mouth just slightly open. Every once in a while, the hand laying palm up in the grass would twitch, like he was working his way through chords in his sleep. It was… endearing. 

The absolute trust this bard who didn’t really know him was baffling. He would have to talk to Geralt about his bards stunning lack of self-preservation. And yet… 

He let his fingertips touch just the ends of Jaskier’s hair before pulling back as if burned. He looked so soft and sweet as he slept. He rolled over, and Eskel tensed, but Jaskier, still sound asleep, just nuzzled against Eskel’s abdomen, and a hand gripped the back of his shirt, just the hem, just to have something to hold to, and Jaskier was lax once more. 

While he never thought he’d be able to sleep like this, something about it was a comforting, and with his hand resting on Jaskier’s shoulder, he too fell asleep. 

∙

In the morning, Eskel’s back ached from sitting upright against the boulder all night, but it was still one of the best sleeps he’d had in a awhile. Jaskier had rolled onto his back during the night, one hand still in Eskel’s shirt, the other arm draped over Eskel’s legs. A sliver of skin showed where his finery had ridden up. 

Eskel longed to touch, but kept his hands to himself. 

It took a while before Jaskier’s eyes fluttered, then snapped shut hard enough that it wrinkled the skin at the corner of his eyes. He groaned. “The sun is early.”

“No, you’re late.”

Jaskier pouted. “I suppose you’re right.” He sat up, and rubbed his fists into his eyes before trying to set his hair to rights. “If I walk quick enough, I might just catch up with the merchants.” 

A part of Eskel wanted to just invite Jaskier to Kaer Morhen, ensure the bard was safe—for Geralt’s sake, and he knew his emotionally constipated brother wouldn’t invite him. It was foolish, a spark of feelings, best let the bard be on his way, and let these memories fade to time. 

Jaskier grabbed his lute case, and looked back at Eskel. “Should I check the stitches before I go?” 

“They’re fine. Thank you, Jaskier.”

He nodded in return. “I’ll see you around, Eskel.”

“The Continent is a big place.”

“Destiny brought us together once, I’m sure she’ll see fit to do it again.” 

Eskel listened to the sound of lute strings, and song as the bard disappeared into the trees. 

∙∙∙

The spring was damp, cold, and miserable. Eskel had completed a contract in a swamp. He’d since had time to clean and dry his armour, but he still felt the chill in his bones. The successful hunt had ensured a full coin purse early in the season, which brought him to the large settlement. His eyes were on a new horse so he wouldn’t have to carrying everything. He also was sick of walking, and being exhausted by the time he got to a new location. 

He stopped at the notice board. Buying a new horse would deplete his coin, probably completely, it wouldn’t hurt to take on a job. Everything on the notice board was entirely normal; wood cutting for an elderly woman, a notice for a gwent tournament, worker request for nearby mines. Nothing for a witcher to deal with. 

A lean few days then. He’d survive. 

Instead of bothering with the inn that he wouldn’t have the coin for, he walked along the path, ignoring the insults, those who spat in his direction, and fearful looks he got along the way as he headed for the farmlands. 

That’s when he saw Geralt, who carried a small pouch. They seemed to have noticed the other at the same time, and Eskel stood still as Geralt approached. “Come with me,” Geralt said, not asking, demanding. Eskel didn’t ask questions, he just fell into step with his brother. 

More whispers, more insults. “I thought your bard had improved your reputation.” 

“This is my reputation improved,” Geralt muttered. “Besides, Jaskier can’t convince anyone of anything right now.”

“Is he hurt?”

“Ill,” Geralt said, wincing but not stopping when a stone hit him in the back of the head. Eskel knew enough to keep his own temper in check. “I’ve been keeping him at the inn, but I think I’ve overstayed whatever welcome I had.” 

“I’m not going to be able to get a horse here, am I?”

“Not unless you’re willing to pay three times the value, and they’d probably poison it before sending it off with you just to be spiteful.”

“Fuck.” 

Eskel followed Geralt to the inn, walking through, ignoring the patrons and innkeeper. They walked down the hall until the third door. Geralt pulled a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door. 

Scents familiar from only one meeting greeted Eskel, but were _off_. Tinged with the sour scent of illness. Even though the room was cool, Jaskier was down to his small clothes, a blanket only still covering his left foot. 

Geralt cursed, and thrust the pouch he’d been carrying at Eskel who held it tight. Geralt walked around the bed, sat down close to Jaskier, reaching out to touch the man’s forehead. “Shit.”

“Fever?” Eskel guessed.

“It’s worse than before.” Geralt grabbed a small basin of water from the nightstand, rung out the rag from within, and used it to wipe down Jaskier’s face, his neck, his shoulders. 

Eskel looked away, down at the pouch in hand. Taking a peek inside, he found a vial, and a few smaller pouches. “What is this stuff?” 

“Give me the vial,” Geralt replied. 

Plucking the vial from the pouch, he passed it off to Geralt. 

“Come on, Jaskier, wake up.” He gave Jaskier a gentlest shake, but Jaskier still groaned as if it pained him. His eyes opened, but they never seemed to quite focus. “Drink this… please.”

To his credit, Jaskier did his best, but choked on the first sip, and it dribbled down his chin. “Hurts,” he managed, touching his throat. 

Anxiety tinged Geralt’s scent. “I know, but this is going to help you feel better, but you need to get it down.” 

“Can’t,” Jaskier nearly sobbed, beginning to shiver even though his skin was still flush with fever. 

After setting down the pouch on a chair, Eskel approached the bed. “Would it help if you sat up a little more?” 

“Es’el.” 

Geralt nodded at Eskel, and on either side of Jaskier, they helped him sit upright. Eskel was surprised by the heat radiating off of Jaskier’s skin. It was enough to cut through the cold that had been plaguing him since the swamps. 

The liquid in the vial was a soft green, and seemed to have a tinge of gold that swirled within. “You need to drink it all,” Geralt said, raising it to Jaskier’s lips, only for the bard to turn away, and tuck his face against Eskel’s throat. 

Geralt let out a displeased hum. 

Eskel’s senses picked up on the sounds of too many people at the end of the hall. Geralt glared at the door indicating he’d heard it too. A few seconds later someone banged on the door. 

“Witcher. You haven’t paid another day, you need to leave.” 

“Fuck.” Geralt passed the vial. “You try. I’ll deal with them.”

Eskel didn’t know how he was to have better luck than Geralt did, but accepted the vial. He dragged his fingertips lightly up Jaskier’s arm, and nudged at his hairline with his nose. “Tip your head back.” 

Jaskier’s head lulled on Eskel’s shoulder, baring his throat to the wolf. Eskel took in the utter vulnerability of the bard, and felt a sharp surge in his desire to keep Jaskier safe. 

“Drink this,” Eskel commanded. 

Jaskier whimpered, but opened his mouth. Eskel tipped the vial, not wanting to pour too fast when it was clear that Jaskier’s throat hurt so bad he had difficulty swallowing, and whatever this potion was, they didn’t want to waste it. The second the first drop touched Jaskier’s tongue, he gagged, and turned his head away. It was only Eskel’s quick reflexes that kept them from loosing too much potion. 

Geralt slammed the door. “We need to go.” He paused at the foot of the bed. “No luck?” 

“Axii?” Eskel asked. 

Jaskier nodded against his neck, apparently just coherent enough. Eskel passed the vial off again, and touched Jaskier’s jaw. Jaskier blinked, but straighted just enough that Eskel could quickly make the sign in front of his eyes. “Drink from the vial. All of it.” 

Although Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s wrist when he lifted the vial, it was just to hold, not to stop. Jaskier swallowed down the liquid, even as it clearly pained him to do so, and twisted away once it was empty, coughing and sobbing, holding his throat. 

“Help me get him dressed before the locals decide to break down the door,” Geralt said, searching for Jaskier’s discarded clothes, not hard to find when they were such a vibrant shade of blue. 

They work together in silence, Jaskier in and out of lucidity. He was sleeping by the time everything was packed. 

“I hate to wake him,” Geralt said. 

“One of us could carry him,” Eskel said, already with Jaskier’s lute on his shoulder while Geralt carried the bard’s pack. 

“I still need to get Roach,” Geralt said. 

Eskel sighed. “I’ll carry him.”

And so he did, the bard had a surprising weight to him, more muscle than Eskel had thought. The fever heat started to lessen as he walked out of town. It didn’t take long to Geralt to catch up, riding on Roach. 

“There are some decent places to make camp nearby,” Geralt said. “I’ll get started.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eskel muttered, he’d be able to find Geralt no problem. He carried Jaskier for another ten minutes before the scents led him off the trail, and through the shrubs with fresh buds ready to bloom. 

A fire was already going, a small pile of wood nearby to ensure that the fire would stay lit all night. He also had at least Jaskier’s bedroll laid out along with a few blankets, and seemed to be brewing something over the fire. 

“Cooking?” Eskel asked, hungry himself. He carefully laid Jaskier down on the bedroll, and then pulled up the blankets to cover him. 

“Making tea,” Geralt said. “The apothecary said it would help.”

Eskel nodded. “I’ll hunt something for dinner. I’m fucking starving.”

Geralt called his name before he got too far, and he looked back. Geralt poked at the fire a bit, glanced at Jaskier, and then finally made eye contact. “Thank you.” 

Eskel wasn’t used to ‘thank you’s even from another witcher. A job being done was simply expected of him. This wasn’t a job, this was aiding a friend. “Uh, yeah,” he replied awkwardly, and continued into the woods. 

It took him a while, but he caught a couple of rabbits, unfortunately on the small side, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He started his walk back to camp by the light of the full moon. 

He heard Geralt, and Jaskier, along with the crackling of the fire. At the tree line, Eskel paused, just listening. Geralt had Jaskier sitting up, supporting him with a hand on his back. 

Jaskier cradled an earthenware mug in hand. He swayed a bit, but Geralt kept him upright. “I had a lovely dream,” Jaskier said, sounding hoarse. 

“Is that so?” Geralt tapped the bottom of the mug, which prompted Jaskier into taking a small sip. 

Jaskier licked his bottom lip, tongue chasing a drop that had escaped. “Yes, I dreamed that Eskel was travelling with us, and I couldn’t walk, so he carried me.” Jaskier was prompted once more to drink, and seemed to be swallowing much easier now. “I met him last year.” 

“I remember, you told me. So did Eskel,” Geralt said with the slightest upturn of his lips. 

“He’s so cute,” Jaskier said, staring at Geralt like he was passing on vital information. Eskel had to wonder just what the hell was in that potion they’d made him drink. 

“People don’t call witchers cute,” Geralt said, poking the logs in the fire with a long stick. 

Jaskier sighed. “But he is! He has a dimple!” He pointed to his own cheek. “Right here! He smiled at me and I saw it!” 

“If you say so.”

“I’m gonna kiss it,” Jaskier said, firm with determination. 

Geralt smiled—actually smiled. “I support your mission, now please, drink your tea.” 

Eskel brushed off the words as the tail end of the fever making him delirious, and waited a few more minutes before returning to camp. 

∙∙∙ 

Late in the summer, they crossed paths again. Eskel was asked to take care of a problem with griffins in the area, and Jaskier had settled into an extended stay playing for the local nobility.

In the night, when both of them had completed their jobs for the day, they met by the bridge that went over where the river cut through the city.

Jaskier sat on the railing, ensuring Eskel had to look up at him for once. Jaskier swung his legs over the water, and Eskel was ready to grab him by the back of the shirt if he started to fall. 

“The Mycrofts didn’t stiff you on coin, did they?” Jaskier asked. 

“Surprisingly, no,” Eskel said. “They were grateful, I also would bet that they didn’t want me kicking up a fuss when they have so many guests.”

“True,” Jaskier said. “Appearances for nobility is everything. Imagine looking like they couldn’t afford a service.” He clucked his tongue. “How pathetic.”

“You spend a lot of time with nobility?”

Jaskier looked away, staring down at the water. “I used to. I’m much happier travelling, but I understand their games, how they’re played, how to win, but I prefer not being in a position where I must play them. However, the coin is good, so is the food, and I won’t turn my nose up at having a roof overhead, and fine linens on my bed.” 

Eskel leaned his forearms on the railing. The moonlight reflected off the water, the area having the softest glow. While Eskel could still hear the sounds of the city, they were far enough away for them to be a background hum. Between the quiet and the glow, it felt as though they were the only two in the world. 

He startled from his thoughts at the feel of Jaskier’s fingers in his hair. He turned slowly, not wanting Jaskier to pull away, but looked up to see the soft expression on Jaskier’s face. “Is this okay?” he whispered, like he didn’t want to break the fragility of this moment either. 

“Yes.” 

The simple kindness had Eskel melting into the touch. 

“You’re leaving in the morning, aren’t you?” 

“The contract is complete,” Eskel said. “Best to be on my way.” An owl hooted nearby, and Eskel tried to track the noise, but couldn’t see it. 

“If you could go anywhere—” Jaskier’s fingers dragged down the back of his neck, “—where would you go?”

Since it was Jaskier asking, Eskel tried to give it some real consideration. Jaskier didn’t push or prod, he just kept up those soothing motions with his fingers along the sensitive skin on the back of his neck, and somehow his magic fingers in Eskel’s hair loosened tension in his shoulders he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying. 

Where would he go without the burden of the Path? Where would he go if there weren’t monsters to kill, and coin to collect. Where would he go if Kaer Morhen wasn’t the closest thing to home he could remember? 

Not the cities, he had no love for crowds, and noise. Maybe some quiet little cabin in the woods? He’d still be able to farm, and hunt, somewhere near a stream. It was… practical. Practical wasn’t what Jaskier was asking of him. 

“The coast,” he whispered, thinking of the brilliant sunsets over the waters that went out so far he felt so small and insignificant, the weight on his shoulders gone, just a man in a moment of time. 

Jaskier shifted then, leaning down a little, and Eskel quickly grabbed his hips, afraid that he would fall into the water. They stared at each other in mutual shock. Jaskier recovered first. “Then I’ll meet you on the east coast, in one months time.” 

“Jask—” he was cut off by a finger over his mouth. 

“There will always be another monster, another contract, another reason for you to be dutiful. You deserve some time away, the world isn’t going to end because you stop protecting it for a couple of days. Take this time with me. Meet me on the coast.” 

The responsible thing to do was refuse. His hands felt at home on Jaskier’s hips, his thumbs brushed along a sliver of skin, he was pushing his luck, but Jaskier’s eyes became a little dazed, and his heart beat faster. “The coast,” Eskel repeated, lips moving along Jaskier’s finger as he spoke. “In one month.”

Jaskier lowered his hand, and sat up straight again, but smiled down upon him. “Something to look forward to.”

∙∙∙

Eskel didn’t make it to the coast in a month’s time. It was a long story involving Geralt and his Child Surprise, Lambert, Yennefer, a royal griffin, a (thankfully) small portion of the Nilfgaardian army, two sticks of dynamite, and a dog. 

None of it mattered because all of that had driven him in retreating steps away from the coast. He said nothing to his companions of where he should be. Jaskier had managed to infect him with his daydreaming nature, but that wasn’t something for a Witcher. This was where he was supposed to be, in the thick of things, fighting, hunting, nursing new injuries, and watching over his brothers. 

Destiny had shown her hand, and Eskel’s destiny did not tie in with Jaskier’s. How could it? How could a bard, a man of song and smiles, who opened his heart, and loved so completely be destined for a witcher, for a man like Eskel who was simply an extension of his sword, and his job?

This was where he belonged, just off the battlefield, sitting around a campfire waiting for morning light so they could continue.

He should never have agreed to the coast. 

Cirilla sat tucked under Geralt’s arm, looking far too haunted for someone so young. Yennefer appeared far too regal to be sitting at their campfire, but was clearly too exhausted to portal elsewhere. Lambert ate his portion of the venison, while tossing bits at the dog when he thought no one else was looking. And Eskel… well, Eskel had stitches in his leg from a Nilfgaard arrow that ensured he’d be getting nowhere fast. 

They had to keep moving. Days bled into weeks, into months, the season shifting. They picked up supplies on the way, there was one place safe for Ciri, and winter was coming. Yennefer stuck around, and Eskel got the impression that was because of Geralt, the two orbiting one another, speaking low at night. 

The group separated, to acquire the things they needed for winter in the town at the base of the Blue Mountains. Eskel went to the trusty leathersmith, and purchased a new strap for his sword, his damaged in a fight, and fraying. He hoped to get a few new pairs of socks at the merchant stalls, he’d already repaired his a few times, and they were dangerously becoming more stitching than wool. 

He got halfway to the market when he heard it, a few strums of a lute, and his heart sped up. Powerless, he followed the muted sound to a tavern, and pushed open the door. 

Jaskier looked up from his strings, hitting the wrong note, and making himself wince. 

Of all the taverns on the Continent, why was he here? Jaskier should be at, or at least nearing Oxenfurt by this late in the year, and yet, here he stood. 

Like a moth to a flame, Eskel crossed the room, looking the bard over for injuries, relieved when he found none. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s eyes were roaming over Eskel, but he held his lute like a last line of defense. “You didn’t meet me at the coast.” His bright blue eyes conveyed his concern. “I… I worried something had happened to you.” 

He should tell Jaskier that he’d simply decided to be sensible, that the spark between them could be nothing more, that he belonged to the Path. A clean break, to let Jaskier be free to love, and love, and love again, so openly, as he had before. 

The door opened behind him, and he knew without looking it was Geralt with Ciri, and Lambert in tow. 

Jaskier lit up. “Geralt!” 

“Jaskier!” 

The two greeted each other warmly, Jaskier swinging his lute to his back to embrace the witcher. Eskel longed to be greeted in such a way. 

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asked, keeping hold of Jaskier’s shoulders as he took a step back. “You should be at Oxenfurt by now.”

“Too dangerous to head south,” Jaskier said with a shrug. “Nilfgaard takes issue with Redanians, and bards, especially bards singing of the White Wolf, especially when the White Wolf has…” he glanced at Ciri meaningfully. “I prefer to keep my fingers, Geralt.”

Geralt frowned. “Hmm. You’d be safer with us. Come to Kaer Morhen.” 

Eskel tensed, and Jaskier glanced at him before looking to the ground. “I best not.” 

Eskel could feel the intensity in which Geralt glared at him, and then winced at the slap to the back of his head. “Ow!” 

“Fix it,” Geralt said, then put a guiding hand on Ciri’s shoulders. “Come on, let’s get you dinner.” 

He watched as Geralt and Ciri sat down with Lambert, but knew he had little choice but to speak with Jaskier. He could be mature about this. He could make the bard see sense, and spend winter together without complications. 

“I waited two weeks on the coast.” Jaskier didn’t even try to hide the heartache. He stood open, defenseless, trusting that Eskel wouldn’t hurt him. 

“I’m sorry. Things got… complicated,” he said glancing back at the table. 

Jaskier nodded. “If things hadn’t become ‘complicated,’ would you have come?” 

_Yes._ But they had become complicated. And those complications had magnified why this thing between them would never work. The word ‘no’ wouldn’t form on his tongue. Instead, he finds himself saying. “There was a dog.” 

Jaskier’s brow wrinkles a bit. “A dog?”

“Yeah, it had it’s face in someone’s saddlebags, contents strewn about. Smelled like Lambert, so this dog—who was looking for the food in the bottom of Lambert’s bag had left a trail of belongings from the bag to Lambert, and for some reason, followed me.” He spilled the whole winding story of every single event that pushed him further and further from the coastline. 

“I understand,” Jaskier said. “But you didn’t answer my question.” 

Eskel sighed. 

Jaskier’s sadness hit him in waves, his eyes shifting to the wall. “Okay then.” 

“It’s not—”

“If you say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ I’ll hit you with my lute.” 

Eskel couldn’t help it, he smiled just a little. Jaskier offered a tentative smile in return. 

“My duty is to the Path. I… I don’t get holidays on the coast. I’m lucky to not be accosted in villages even when they need my services. You deserve so much more than I can give.” 

Jaskier took a deep breath. “There is a lot to unpack there. First of all, I spent well over a decade travelling with Geralt, and still frequently do, I’m not blind to the Path and all it entails. Second, you deserve better than what humanity offers, and you can damn well take a holiday on the coast if you please. More than that, I can’t say if I’m worthy of you, but I want you, I care for you, and I’m brave enough to admit it.”

Eskel tensed a little. “Are you calling me a coward?”

Jaskier took a deliberate step into his space, aligning their bodies with barely any space between them. “Yeah, what are you going to do about it?” 

He broke after three seconds of staring into those blue eyes. “I’ve cared about you since you introduced yourself to me, if only for Geralt’s sake, as you’re his best friend. And my care for you became personal when you stitched me up, because you’re kind, and you wanted to help, and you weren’t afraid, you’ve never been afraid of me.” 

Tension bled out of Jaskier, but now that the gate had fallen, the words kept falling from Eskel’s mouth. “I’ve wanted to protect you since you fell ill, powerless but trusting in two Witchers to keep you safe, to keep you alive.” He doesn’t make mention of the feverish words from Jaskier that had set his heart aflutter. 

“And I have believed in something more since I saw you bathing in moonlight on that bridge. When you touch me, it’s because you want to. You want better things for me than I dare dream. So, yes, I would have met you on the coast.”

He felt empty, his heart in Jaskier’s hands—for once, he was the one open and vulnerable. 

Jaskier was gentle, oh so gentle. His hand on Eskel’s cheek as he leaned in, their lips meeting, soft and sweet. All at once, Eskel was full to the brim, happier than he’d ever been, loving and loved in return. 

They stayed connected, even when their lips parted. Eskel dragged his thumb against the smooth skin on Jaskier’s jaw. “What now?”

“Well,” Jaskier glanced at the table, their companions doing a piss-poor job of pretending to not pay attention. “Do you want me at Kaer Morhen?” 

Jaskier safe behind fortress walls, Jaskier at his side through the winter months, Jaskier’s voice, Jaskier’s scent, Jaskier’s sense of humour, Jaskier’s touch, Jaskier, _Jaskier_ , _**Jaskier.**_

“Yes.” 

Jaskier smiled. 

_Jaskier’s smile._

“Then at your side in Kaer Morhen I will be.” 

Eskel smiled then, unfamiliar but pleased with the emotions wreaking havoc in his chest. 

Jaskier’s heart beat a little faster, and Eskel didn’t stop him when he moved quickly into his space. 

Lips on his cheek. 

No. On his dimple. 

He hadn’t forgotten. Jaskier looked quite pleased with himself, smiling at Eskel. Jaskier grabbed his hand, and dragged him off toward their companions. 

Geralt wore a knowing smirk, and Lambert pushed five crowns across the table.

∙∙∙

Eskel returned to his bedroom after some early morning training to find Jaskier drowning in one of his shirts, laying on his belly, a book open on the bed. 

“Good book?”

“It could use some flair,” Jaskier replied. “But it’s alright.” 

Despite being warm, he threw another log in the fire for Jaskier’s comfort. He walked to the bed, ran his hand from Jaskier’s ankle to the back of his knee before pulling his hand back. 

“Felt nice,” Jaskier murmured. He didn’t push, never pushed, but let it be known that he was open to being touched whenever Eskel pleased, not pushing when those touches were seemingly more modest than he’d like. 

Eskel still felt off balance, floundering in this feeling. He treated it like glass, something so breakable. Jaskier reached blindly, grabbed his hand, and dragged it to his mouth so he could kiss each of Eskel’s fingertips. 

In that moment he knew, their love wasn’t glass. 

It was a stronghold. 

Jaskier shut the book, and curled up with Eskel. “Tell me about forktails.”

“Forktails?”

“They’re boring in the book.” He settled with his chin on Eskel’s chest. “You’ll tell me a better story.”

He didn’t have skills in storytelling. “What makes you think that?”

“Simple, Darling,” he replied, grabbing Eskel’s hand to kiss his fingertips again. “You make everything better.” 


End file.
